Speaking a Dead Language
by Muffy the Dough Slayer
Summary: It's the anniversary of Barry's mother's death, and for once, he doesn't want to be alone... Part of the "All These Things That I've Done" series, takes place after APPP and before IGSBINAS.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** I wasn't expecting this story to turn out this way and I'm not too happy with it, but oh well xD Here it is. If you have any thoughts on possible one-shot ideas or anything, feel free to let me know :) Hope this one sounds okay!

 _Requested by Vampira Maxwell on AO3._

This is part of the "All These Things That I've Done" series.

This takes place after "A Pretty, Painted Picture" but before "I've Got Soul but I'm Not a Soldier".

Story length: 2382

Begin!

* * *

 **Speaking a Dead Language**

It's that time of year again.

When everything seems cold and gray and Barry wants to run and hide. As a child he would do just that; many times, Joe would find him hiding in the closet, or curled up under his bed, just trying to forget this day even exists. But it does exist, and adult Barry knows he can't run forever, and hiding from this is not an option.

It's the anniversary of his mom's death. The anniversary of her murder by the Man in Yellow, dubbed the Reverse-Flash.

This is the day that lives in infamy – as a child he would rage against whatever comfort Joe tried to offer him. Rage against Iris, too. Tell her she had no idea what he was going through so how could she possibly understand, or even sympathize? Yes, her mother died when she was younger, but it wasn't murder, and it wasn't in front of her, and her father wasn't sent away, too. As a child, he held tight that no one understood, and maybe on this day, only once a year, did he hate Joe a little. The rest of the time, he loved the man like a second father, but on that day… on that day, all he could think about was his father in handcuffs, his mom's blank stare, and the blood. And the accusations against his father, and the fact _Joe_ was the one to put him in Iron Heights.

He's so torn on this day. Every year, even fourteen years after the fact. He's still so torn and emotionally spent every time this day rolls around, and Iris and Joe leave him alone to wallow in his self-pity for a day. Then the next day, they bang his door open, equipped with fresh donuts and lots of coffee, and then they won't leave his side for the rest of the day. They give him a day to hate himself and hate everyone else, and then they save him from himself.

That's how he prefers it. He wants to be _alone_ on this day.

If he's with someone else… he just feels wrong. Spending the day with Iris and Joe as he was forced to those first few years as a kid, it just made things worse. Because Iris and Joe were happy, and treating him like family, and he felt so torn because a part of him _wanted_ that. He wanted to be part of a family, but on that day he was always, _always_ , reminded he _wasn't_ part of a family, not anymore. He wasn't really part of Joe's family. He wasn't really Iris's brother. He wasn't Joe's son. He had a family, could remember them clearly in his mind with all the _want_ of a teenager, and knowing he couldn't have that back… it broke him, every single year.

For days afterward, he'd be in a funk no one, not even Iris, could break him from.

So eventually, Joe and Iris left him alone for the day, and he wallowed in his self-hatred and despair and brought up all those thoughts and memories he usually suppressed – thought of his mom's smile, his dad's voice, hated himself when his mom's voice was becoming too fuzzy, remembered her blank stare the most…

And he hated that _that_ was what he remembered the most.

Her death.

In the end it all came back to that empty stare as he pulled the sheet back.

Even now, years later – the most vibrant thing in his mind about his mom is _that_ look. And he absolutely _hates_ it.

He's known this day was coming since earlier this month. He's planned accordingly. His refrigerator – Joe's refrigerator, he corrects, since he moved back to Joe's place after Iris moved out to live with Eddie – is stocked with all the food the Flash could possibly want in the next twenty-four-hours, and he plans to spend the majority of his time dodging Joe – which shouldn't be too hard, considering Joe's stuck at work most of the day – and sitting alone in his room with an equally blank stare on his face.

That's how he plans to spend the day.

But when he's on hour four of that day… he gets a text.

It's simple, and any other day he might brush it off.

Today, it seems more poignant.

 _From Len: I'm hungry_

It's only two words long, and so very simple. Len's sent him that before, when he was at work, and Barry ignored it – not because it didn't make him smile, but because he was busy, and it's only a very, very vague invitation. They won't even be having sex (probably) which is the main reason they even started this _whatever it is_ in the first place.

But at this point, three months down the road, sex is secondary, and Barry's not sure what to think of that. The man even let him touch his tattoos, and trusted Barry enough to show him his back. He even introduced CSI Barry Allen to his sister, Lisa, and his friend, Mick. Both criminals. Both part of his Rogues.

Today is not the day for Barry to be thinking about anything. Especially his relationship status with a criminal named Leonard Snart, who moonlights as Captain Cold, the Flash's enemy.

Still… it's just an offer for food, and it's not even posed as a question. Len just said he's hungry. Barry can join if he wants.

And the funny thing is… he _wants_.

Every other year, he's been alone, and that's how he prefers it on this day. He won't be any great company. But today… the thought of a late lunch with Len sounds _good_.

But it's not for him. Today is for being alone and hating himself.

Hating the world.

Len doesn't know this part of him, and why should he? It's not like they're actually _dating_ or anything. Right?

Again – thinking about his relationship status right now is… complicated, and not what today is for.

He doesn't realize he's replying until he's hit send.

 _To Len: I'm not good company today. Sorry._

Complete with punctuation and everything. He winces. That's really not like him – he's fast at texting, which usually means he forgets punctuation unless he's serious.

Len, surprisingly, picks up on it.

 _From Len: What's wrong Barry_

Even the name-drop, yikes.

He doesn't call him 'Barry' very often. It's usually Scarlet, or 'kid'.

A part of Barry debates about ignoring Len's text. Answering truthfully will complicate things, as will lying, as Len already knows something's wrong. Funny how he knows but not Caitlin or Cisco. In the days leading up to this, Barry's been a bit distant. Cisco commented on it but Barry blamed it on tiredness, and Cisco told him to go home and sleep, not seeing through the lie.

He's not sure what to think about the fact _Len_ picks up on his addition of proper punctuation in his texting, of all things.

Other times, if he sends something like "not a good day" or "can't today" Len just leaves it at that, assuming (correctly) that Barry's tied up at work. Today, though…

Maybe it's his word choice, but again – he's been wrapped up in a case before and said something similar, and Len didn't ask.

He's unresponsive for too long, apparently.

 _From Len: I will track you down, Scarlet_

 _From Len: I know where you live_

Barry smirks to himself – the first smirk of the day, first upward twitch of his lips all day.

 _To Len: You sound like a stalker, you know._

 _From Len: Then answer me and I won't hunt you down_

 _To Len: Is it really hunting if you know where I am?_

 _From Len: What's wrong_

Straight back to the point, then.

Barry sighs, shoulders slumping. He doesn't want to discuss this, especially not via text of all things. He could call Len and just tell him 'hey, today I wanna be alone, sorry' but that would raise more questions.

But again… a part of him _wants_ to be with Len right now, and he's not sure why.

Len is his enemy. He's Captain Cold. He's a criminal.

He's… _something_.

They have a deal – a fling. It's just… becoming more than that. The sex is secondary. Barry enjoys his company. Len's voice is soothing and comforting and suddenly something Barry really wants to hear.

 _I can always flash out in a hurry if I have to…_ he thinks to himself.

Which is true, of course. Perks of being the Flash, after all. If a situation is beyond awkward or just not working, he can just run away.

Run away and hide from the world.

But right now…

 _To Len: Lunch sounds good. Your place?_

 _From Len: I'll order pizzas. Your usual?_

 _To Len: Thanks. Be there soon_

He doesn't give a time. He doesn't even offer the pun of 'in a flash' like he would have normally.

He'll go to Len's, he just… needs to work up the nerve.

His phone buzzes again.

 _From Len: Give me 10 minutes and I'll have coffee and movies ready_

Barry smiles – it feels… strange, but good. Not wounded like the rest of him. Smiling doesn't hurt as much as it usually does on this day.

All Len knows is something's amiss – he doesn't even know if Barry's upset, just that something's not completely right – and he's preparing coffee, ordering pizzas even with Barry's voracious appetite, and is getting movies ready for a lazy day on the couch.

It's not how Barry planned to spend the day… but oh well, that sounds fucking _amazing_.

And Barry _wants_. So badly.

 _To Len: You're the best, Len. Thank you._

Then he waits for the appropriate ten minutes before he dresses in a blur of motion and disappears from the house in a flash.

He arrives at Len's seconds later.

Len's in the kitchen pouring coffee into two separate mugs, and to his credit, he keeps his cool when Barry's suddenly in the room. He doesn't even flinch, though he spares Barry a quick glance. Then he frowns, and stares, giving Barry his full attention, putting the coffee pot down.

"What's wrong, Scarlet?" he asks carefully.

Barry blinks. "Uh – nothing?" he tries.

That coffee smells so good…

Len's eyes narrow. "How about not lying to me? I know something's wrong. Talk to me, kid."

Barry rolls his eyes. "It doesn't… It doesn't matter."

Except it does. It really, really does.

But this is Len, his enemy, Captain Cold – why would he _care_ …

 _He doesn't care,_ Barry tells himself. _It's just sex between us… nothing more._

It can't be, after all.

"Tell me," Len says again, more firmly this time, his 'you better start answering me or I will ice you' tone.

The Captain Cold tone – smooth and firm and in control. Except with a touch of softness, too? It's… an odd combination.

It's a bit like truth serum.

Barry's shoulders slouch. "Today's just… not a good day for me. Sorry. I shouldn't have come. I'm really not up for, uh… anything…"

Len stares at him for a moment. "You think I was going to try to have sex with you like this?"

Barry winces. "Uh – well… no. Not really."

And that's true – he doesn't think Len would try to twist this situation like that, but that's not the point.

"I'm just not gonna be good company today," Barry tells him. "This was a mistake. I should go."

And then he's moving. Just a thought and he can dash away.

Len's faster, for once.

His fingers curl tightly around Barry's wrist, yanking him to a stop as he turns to run away. He turns back to face Len, narrowed blue eyes focused on him so intently…

"What's wrong?" Len asks again, in a tone that brooks no argument.

"It's just not a good day."

"Why?"

Barry sighs heavily, gaze skittering away. Len's floor is shiny. "Today's the anniversary of my mom's murder," he finally murmurs, in a tone he barely recognizes. It's thick and heavy and painful. "I know it happened… it happened fourteen years ago, but it still… hurts, and my dad's still in prison for her murder, and the Reverse-Flash is still out there…"

He's told Len, very briefly, of the Reverse-Flash, and that he's the man that really killed his mom, not his father.

"And it's just not a good day," Barry finishes. "Sorry."

"Stop apologizing," Len says.

Barry frowns, but keeps his gaze focused on the floor. "I usually… I like to be alone on this day, every year. It's just easier."

"And they let you?" Len asks.

Barry knows he means Iris and Joe. "Well – yeah."

"If you like to be alone, why are you here?"

That's… a good question. Barry's not really sure of the answer. He shrugs pathetically. "I don't know."

"Why not go to Caitlin, or Cisco? They're your friends, aren't they?"

There's a lump in Barry's throat, barbed with little knives cutting him. Swallowing is painful but necessary. "Yeah…"

"But instead of going to them, you came to me."

It's not a question, so it doesn't really need a response. Barry remains still and silent.

"Look at me, Scarlet." Len's voice is softer, almost _gentle_ , which is really – odd.

Barry lifts his gaze from the floor, focusing on Len's face. His eyes are soft, too.

"It's okay to still be upset and need time away from everyone," Len tells him, fingers tightening briefly around Barry's wrist before letting go, both of them having forgotten said wrist was still captured. "But wallowing in self-pity for an entire day is draining and I won't allow it."

Barry blinks at him. "What?"

"I won't allow it," Len repeats firmly. "Do you understand?"

"But…"

"Well?"

Barry sighs. "I guess, but-"

"Good. Now – the pizza should be here any minute, and we are going to watch stupid movies all day until you forget about wallowing. Understood?"

Barry stares at him. He certainly wasn't expecting _this_ when the day started. "Are you…? Are you trying to _comfort_ me?"

"I can be comforting," Len retorts.

Barry's lips twitch upward ever-so-slightly. "Oh, can you?"

Len smiles. "That's better."

"W-What's better?" He's so confused…

"Smile, Scarlet. It suits you much better."


	2. Chapter 2: Words Unspoken

**A/N:** I wasn't planning on having more of this story. But then this just kind of tumbled out, and yeah... so here it is xD I plan maybe one more chapter? Meh, we'll see how it goes. I don't even know. I just got to thinking about loss and how I still miss them so much even though it's been years, and it kind of just got poured into Barry, so... :P Yepp. Here this is, now.

Length: 1372

Onward!

* * *

 **Speaking a Dead Language - 2 - Words Unspoken**

The grave is silent.

That's to be expected, of course – graves can't talk, and the people buried beneath them are long dead and silent. But the silence always gets to Barry every single time he comes here, he thinks – it's just too… _quiet_. The wind barely makes a sound, and there are no leaves rustling, or birds chirping, or _anything_. It's just silent, like the world has fallen into a hush because it's a cemetery.

Barry's used to the silence, he thinks. He hopes. It still bothers him, but it's something he's come to expect with every visit.

Nora Allen is buried atop a small hill, with few tombstone neighbors. As a child Barry liked the solitude this hill brought him; as an adult, it just adds to the silence. He feels as though if he speaks above a whisper, he might shatter the moment – and he's never sure if he wants it to shatter or not. Breaking it makes it feel more real; then again, there's a tentative, childlike part of him that _hopes_ if he breaks the silence, shatters the moment, that it won't exist at all. He'll blink and wake up in his bed, eleven-years-old, and still have both his parents.

It won't happen, and it never will, and it just leaves him feeling empty.

He usually tries to visit his mother's grave at least on the anniversary of her death, or the day after. Sometimes Iris and Joe go with him; sometimes he's completely alone. Today, he's not alone.

Len is a solid and warm presence at his side, real and silent.

Barry didn't ask him to come.

He simply said he had something he _really_ had to do today, and Len offered to drive. And that was that. Barry couldn't say no.

And here they are, and it's awkward and silent and Barry doesn't know if being alone would be better or worse, but the silence is really starting to get to him.

He takes in a shaky breath and kneels next to the chiseled stone. He runs numb fingers over the smooth carvings, hesitating briefly over the description of 'Mother'. There's a catch in his breath, air lodged painfully in his throat, and his eyes burn mercilessly. It's been fourteen years, and he's still fighting back tears. Sometimes it hurts worse now than the day it happened. It's crazy.

Pain like this never really goes away. It lingers, and it aches, and it digs down so deep it becomes a part of him he has no hope of ever digging out. It'll always be there, lurking and waiting in the dark crevices of his mind, in the pit of his stomach, ready to pounce when his mind wanders.

Most days he smiles and thinks about other things.

On this day, once a year, he won't allow himself to think of anything else. To do so would be an insult to her memory. He misses her. He misses her all the time, every day, and it never really gets any easier.

The pain doesn't lessen; it's still there, consuming in its magnitude. Ready to drown him with the onslaught when that image of his mom's blank stare plays behind his eyes. It's still there, and it won't go away; it doesn't really lessen, but it does get easier to ignore it.

And ignoring it only works sometimes.

At some point, the pain turned into strength.

He'd listen to his mom's favorite songs, or watch her favorite movies, or stare at her pictures for hours. He'd cry, and sob, and _smile_. Smile because he remembered how much fun they had. He remembered humming along to these songs while they did dishes after dinner, while his dad sat in the living room watching the game. He remembered being confused, as a child, when his mom cried at the ending of certain movies – tears of happiness and sorrow. He remembered, and it hurt just as much as it sewed him back together.

It's not something he can describe, but the feeling's there all the same, and it _hurts_.

"Hey, Mom," he says weakly, voice a mere breath of air, easily stolen away in the light breeze. He stares at the hard curve of the 'o' in 'Mother', seeing but blind. "I miss you. I… I brought a friend…"

He's not sure if Len can hear him until that moment.

Len steps forward so he's standing flush against Barry's back. Barry falls back on his heels, leaning against Len's strong legs, unaware he needs the support until then. There's a hand atop his head, fingers curling lightly in the strands, and nothing is said but somehow it's perfect. It's enough.

He swallows thickly; knives in his saliva. Painful, but necessary.

"This is Len," he says to the gray stone. "He's…"

And he stops, because he doesn't know what Len is to him.

Friend? Maybe. Enemy? Well, not really anymore, right? Boyfriend? Okay, no. Nope.

It's complicated, trying to label what they are.

In the end he doesn't have to.

"He's special," Barry says.

Len's fingers tighten marginally in his hair – almost enough to hurt, but then they relax, smoothing through the strands. Barry realizes, belatedly, that he's being petted, but that's okay. It feels nice. Calming. He takes in a shuddering breath. It shouldn't be this hard.

"I'm… I just wanted to tell you, me and Dad, we're okay. We're both okay," Barry says quietly, biting down on his lower lip.

It's what he tells her every year – they're okay. It's hard, and it won't ever be truly easy, but they're okay. They're alive, and one day, maybe it won't be so hard. They're okay.

He wishes he could tell her that to her face. He wishes he could say a lot of things to her face.

He can't.

It's not okay, but it's something he has to live with.

"I love you, Mom," he says – another thing he says every year.

He can't remember if he said that to her before she died. He can't remember if he wished her goodnight that night, if he said 'I love you, Mom', or if he just smiled and rolled over, ready for bed. He can't remember if she kissed him goodnight; can't remember if he hugged her or kissed her back. The only thing he remembers vividly is that blank stare as he pulled the sheet back. The one image he wants desperately to forget.

He never will.

Barry's voice doesn't want to work anymore – that's okay; he doesn't really have much left to say, except…

"Sorry I didn't visit last year," he says raspily. "I… I was in a coma. I'm so sorry. I… I got powers, Mom. I became the Flash…"

He wanted to come see his Mom as soon as he woke up from his coma, realizing he slept through the date, but was unable to do so because he was instantly thrown into everything. He barely had time to see Iris before his powers started kicking in – confusing the hell out of him at first. And then there was Mardon… and Joe found out, and he had to keep it a secret from everyone…

And somehow, his mom got pushed to the background, and for that he'll never forgive himself.

"Mom…"

His voice betrays him, then, finally breaking off, stuck under that lump in his throat.

He doesn't try again.

Instead he just sits there with his back against Len's legs, Len's fingers lost in his hair, and he thinks about his mom.

He's not sure how long he sits there; the wind is this low drone, and the silence is deafening. Eventually Len moves; Barry stiffens after nearly toppling over, but Len's not moving away. He crouches, then sits on the ground just behind Barry, arms easily guiding him backward so he can lean into him again, more comfortably now, for both of them.

Len doesn't have to do this. He doesn't have to be here.

He can leave.

He could leave so easily.

He stays.

He stays, and he's warm and solid and real, and Barry leans into him like he has nowhere else to go.

No words are spoken, but then, no words are needed.


	3. Chapter 3: Aftermath

**A/N:** Here's the last bit to this story :) Further updates and one-shots might be slow in coming; I found out yesterday that I have to have surgery on my wrist. Depending on how quickly they get me in and the recovery time... it might be slow, yeah xD Just a warning.

Thanks so much for all the reviews and everything last chapter, guys! I really appreciate it :) Glad you're enjoying it.

Length: 2870

Onward!

* * *

 **Speaking a Dead Language – 3 – Aftermath**

"Alright – bye, sis."

Len hangs up his phone, quickly pocketing it as he turns to look back at the bedroom door, which leads into the master bedroom – AKA his room. AKA the room he sometimes shares with Barry Allen, AKA the Flash. What has his life become?

The door is still slightly ajar, but inside there's a dark silence. The kid is hopefully still asleep; Len just had to sneak away for a minute to let Lisa know that, yes, he's fine, and yes, Barry's here, and no, she doesn't need to come home right now. He told her it's not a good day, and that he'll explain later. Right now he just knows Barry won't appreciate the company, and he managed to come see Len yesterday, of all days – instead of going to anyone else. And that means something.

He's known this little… _fling_ between them is escalating. Known for a while now. But this really just drives it home. Fuck-buddies don't go to each other for emotional support. 'Frenemies' – that term Len hates but Barry uses teasingly – don't, either.

And yet here they are. This is more. He's not sure _what_ it is, but it's more.

And he's… okay with that.

A few months ago, if someone told him he'd be so cozy with the Flash of all people, he would have shot them dead. People that unstable obviously can't be trusted. Best to shoot them. But now…

Now he's not so sure.

Now he's… _something_.

This fling is getting out of hand, but he can't find it in him to stop it.

Especially when he thinks on the anguished look on Barry's face the day before, when he first showed up at the safe house. He had a knee-jerk reaction upon seeing that face, the same kind of reaction he had whenever Lisa looked at him tearfully when she was younger – he had to make it better. He had to fix it, even though he's a terrible repair man.

He's not sure what that knee-jerk reaction says about their fling.

It's complicated, sometimes. But sometimes it's so very simple, when they're falling into bed together or Len wakes with warmth flush against his back…

Len's never been one for snuggling or cuddling – even if they're just spooning manfully and _not_ cuddling, because they're men and that's what they do. He's never done it much; most of his sexual encounters with one-night stands, he leaves immediately after, or they do. They'll have sex, and Len will either get dressed or toss them their clothes and let them know where the door is.

And that's fine. That's how it should be.

For a while it was like that with Barry, too; they had sex, then the Flash left afterward. But ever since the Flash revealed himself to be Barry Allen, things have shifted between them. Slowly at first, but hindsight is twenty-twenty and it's very clear to him now.

After he told Len his name, they started spending more time together. Time where it wasn't just about sex. They watched movies and played cards with Lisa and Mick. They ate ice cream and sat on the couch critiquing stupid movies. They went to bed simply to sleep, and sometimes sex was never even brought up once when they were in each other's company.

What kind of fling is this, where the sex is secondary?

Len drags a slow hand across his face; he's exhausted, though not physically. Spending yesterday with Barry was emotionally draining, though he can't say he regrets it. The kid obviously needed it, and the fact he chose to go to Len instead of anyone else… Well, that really says something, doesn't it?

Len will look at that when he's ready. He'll analyze and overanalyze every little thought he has on the matter, and every action leading up to this, and he'll come to a conclusion. But for now, he won't investigate.

Right now, he's needed somewhere else, and that somewhere is with the man still sprawled out in Len's bed.

Len uses the restroom quickly, washes his hands, and tiptoes back into the bedroom, careful to move the door slowly so it doesn't creak like it sometimes does. Everything is dark and silent, save for the quiet hush of Barry's even breathing. The kid's still asleep, then. Good. He needs it.

Len slips back into bed, slow as he can. As soon as his head hits the pillow, there's a hitch in Barry's breath and an arm suddenly splayed across Len's middle, warmth pressed into his side, a leg shoved between both of his so they're this tangled mess of limbs.

He stills for a moment; this is new. Sure, they've spooned manfully before, but that leg has never been shoved so easily between both of Len's. Barry's never burrowed into him before. They spoon but they're still distant, usually.

There's still usually enough room for Len to slip out unnoticed.

Barry shifts again, and now his head's on Len's chest and his breaths even out again.

He doesn't realize his hand's moving until the fingers are moving softly through the disheveled strands of Barry's hair, much like at the cemetery yesterday. He swallows, peering through the darkness up at the ceiling as sunlight begins to lighten the curtains and windows, the sun slowly rising.

"Thank you," Barry mumbles, so quietly Len almost doesn't hear him. It's muffled by how he's seemingly trying to bury his face in Len's shirt and ribs, but it's there all the same, and it's sincere and soft and honest.

"It's okay, kid," Len tells him, unable to find the words for anything else.

Something has shifted in their relationship, in their fling.

But as the sun slowly rises and Barry's body is entangled so thoroughly with his own, Len decides that's okay.

xXx

They wake late – roughly noon. Len hasn't slept in so much in years. It's a little disorientating, the day already well started by the time they crawl out of bed. Barry looks a little rough, but he smiles at Len before disappearing into the bathroom.

Len heads into the kitchen to start breakfast. He's not the best at pancakes, but French toast is very simple. And fast.

Barry takes his time in the shower, which is unusual for him. He's usually done very quickly, unable to stop himself from zipping through it unless they're showering together. He takes his time, and Len fixes breakfast, and by the time Barry enters the kitchen, there's a heaping pile of French toast already waiting for him, along with a large glass of milk.

Soda and beer do not go with French toast.

Len would fix coffee – he wants some, badly – but it won't do Barry any good to be that wired right now, even if it goes through him quickly. Coffee is more mental with him; it used to have an effect on him, so now when he drinks it he thinks about it, and it's almost like it has the same effect, if only for a little while.

A placebo, almost.

Barry's clad in a baggy, long-sleeved gray shirt of Len's, as well as a pair of Len's sweatpants. There's something _good_ about seeing Barry in his clothes, Len notes with a smirk. None of his other flings have ever worn his clothes.

Barry sits at the table, staring at the French toast. "Thanks, Len," he says softly, before digging into the food.

Well, at least his appetite is back. He wasn't very hungry yesterday, despite his speedy metabolism.

They eat in this comfortable silence, despite the slightly gritty look to Barry's eyes. It's a look Len doesn't particularly like; he's seen people sad before, people mourning, but seeing it etched across Barry's face is… unsettling. He's not sure _why_ , but it is.

Again, though, he can think on that later.

When they're done eating, they migrate to the living room, where they sit to watch daytime TV. Daytime TV is horrible and usually drives Len nuts; Barry thinks it's amusing, though. He laughs at the ridiculous stuff seen and said on _Springer_ , points out all the flaws in the crime shows playing around this time, mocks the judges on the judge shows.

Sure enough, a few minutes after sitting down, Len looks over and finds Barry smiling, watching the TV.

He turns his focus back to the TV, and they sit like that for a long while.

After a time, Barry stretches. "Hey, Len?"

The tone is timid and soft, instantly catching Len's attention. He glances back at the brunette speedster. "Yes, Barry?"

Barry shifts, teeth catching his lower lip momentarily, before they release it and he draws in a slow breath. "I just, um… I w-wanted to thank you. For yesterday. That was… You didn't – I mean – You… You didn't have to do that. Thank you."

His words are soft but sincere. One thing he's always liked about Barry is his honesty. Once upon a time he thought the kid was naïve, but no – he's really not. He's just genuine in everything he does, which is a very rare quality these days. He's innocent, sincere and caring.

Len opens his mouth, but can't find the words. He doesn't know what to say. Shrugging it off might make Barry upset – he'll think Len's dismissing everything, when he's really not. If he says the wrong thing, that could also backfire.

He waits too long.

Barry's eyes skitter away. "I, uh… I think I should be going."

He gets to his feet, stepping easily around the coffee table and toward the bedroom, probably to get his shoes. Len watches him until he disappears into the bedroom, then sighs heavily, dragging a hand across his face.

When did this become his life?

When did he start to… _care_?

It's all so strange. He shouldn't care. This is just a fling. It wouldn't even work between them anyway – not like that. Not _seriously_. Barry is not only the superhero known as the Flash, but he's also a CSI for the CCPD. Definitely on the opposite side of the law. So really, nothing can possibly work between them.

Ever.

Nothing more than sex, anyway. Because that's simple, and easy, and what the hell are they doing now?

Len's legs move of their own accord, and a second later he's standing and striding toward the bedroom just as Barry is exiting, shoes on his feet. He stops just short of walking into Len, eyes wide, startled.

"Sorry," he says quickly.

"You don't have to go," Len says without thinking.

But it's the truth – Barry doesn't have to leave. Unless he wants to. But Len won't force him, and he doesn't want Barry thinking he's kicking him out or anything, because that can't be further from the truth.

"Len…"

"It's poker night tonight," Len tells him. "You can join us if you want. And you don't have to leave right now if you don't want to, kid."

Barry chews thoughtfully on his bottom lip, leaving little indents from his teeth. "I don't want to intrude or overstay my welcome."

"You're not intruding or overstaying," Len says, mostly to get that look off Barry's face. Again – he's young and innocent and genuine; Len likes that look much better than the downcast, crestfallen expression he's wearing now.

"Alright," Barry sighs. "I guess I'll join you tonight. And stay. If that's okay."

Len nods.

Barry takes in a breath. "Thanks, again, for… yesterday. You really didn't have to do that."

Len shrugs. "It's okay, Scarlet. Everyone has their off-days."

"It's been fourteen years," Barry mumbles, looking at the ground. "It shouldn't still be this… hard."

Len hasn't ever lost anyone like that. He was only six when his mom died, not quite old enough to understand what was happening. For a while he dreamt of her and wondered where she went and if she was coming back; Lewis Snart wasn't very helpful in that regard. After that he started drinking heavily, and a part of him always blamed Len and Lisa for her death, despite the fact she died of cancer.

After that, the only person who mattered to Len was Lisa, and he hasn't lost her. He won't ever let that happen, either.

But, since he's never really cared about someone enough to dread losing them…

He doesn't really understand what Barry's saying. That it's still so hard, fourteen years later. That he goes to his mom's grave at least once a year, and talks to her like she can hear him. Like she might answer back.

To him, it's strange; he's never experienced that kind of loss.

But to Barry… it's hard. It's hard because he obviously loved his mother a lot, and not only did she die that night, but his father got thrown into prison for her murder. Barry says Henry Allen is innocent, and has spent a great deal of his life trying to prove that to people so they'll let him go.

Len can't understand that kind of commitment.

"I don't think there's really a timer on grief," he finally says, watching the kid. Barry's eyes are still glued to the ground; Len just vacuumed two days ago, so it can't be dirty. "Look at me, kid."

It takes longer than it should, but finally Barry's eyes raise to meet his own, green locked onto blue.

"It's okay to be sad," Len tells him. "It's okay to miss her. It's okay."

Barry watches him for a long moment, before his lips twitch upward in a faint smile. "Thank you. You're the best."

Len smirks, and then turns to lead the way back toward the couch.

Barry doesn't follow immediately, but by the time Len reaches the couch, Barry's already sitting down.

xXx

"I'm _fine_ ," Barry complains into his cell phone as he stands alone in Len's bedroom.

"Dad said you didn't come home last night, and we've been trying to reach you," Iris tells him, sounding equal parts angry and worried. "It's not like you to… _leave_ on that date."

Barry scowls, but she's right. Usually he locks himself alone somewhere, and deals with it himself. By the next day he's exhausted, emotionally spent, and ready to sleep for a year. Today, though…

His eyes are gritty, and yes he's emotionally spent, but he can _smile_.

It usually takes days for him to smile again, despite Iris and Joe's best efforts.

And yet…

Len has made him smile a lot; okay, not that much, but it's still way over the usual limit.

On a day he likes to be left alone, he went to Len's. They spent the day together, Len visited Nora Allen's grave with him, and they fell asleep together. Barry woke in a tangled heap with Len, and instead of there being that usual tight knot in his stomach the day after, today he feels… _okay_. Like he's not about to burst from all the things he didn't say, but instead like he's almost… _content_.

It's not a happy day, but he can smile.

"I'm fine," he tells Iris again. "I just stayed somewhere else, that's all."

"Where?" Iris asks. "Joe almost sent out a search party when you still weren't home this morning."

"Sorry; I slept in late, and my phone died," Barry tells her.

"Where are you?"

"With a… friend."

"You're not alone?" She sounds surprised.

"No."

"I thought you liked being left alone?"

"So did I," he says softly.

"Who are you with? Cisco?"

"No."

"Caitlin?"

"No."

"Do you have a secret boyfriend I don't know about?" Iris asks, mostly teasing. Mostly.

Except Barry freezes, because… maybe.

"W-What?" he says intelligently.

"Oh. Oh my God, you _do_!" Iris exclaims. "Tell me everything! What's their name?"

"Len," Barry says, mostly because it's useless trying to dodge Iris at this point. She's a dog with a bone, after all.

"Len," Iris repeats. "Oh, that's great! I didn't know you were seeing anyone."

"We're not really… together," Barry explains. "We're just… having fun."

"You're having a random fling?" Iris asks, shock in her tone. " _You_?"

Barry scowls, even though she can't see him. That's insulting.

"I didn't really think you were into that kind of thing, Barry."

"I'm not," he says, shaking his head. "It's – complicated. It's complicated."

"Well, I'll have to meet him sometime," Iris says.

"Yeah – maybe," Barry says, though he has no intention of ever letting Iris and Len meet. That would ruin everything.

There's a light knocking on the bedroom door.

"I gotta go, Iris," he tells her. "Dinner's here."

"Okay, Barry – are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine," he says for what has to be the hundredth time. "Honest. I'm actually… I'm okay."

"That's good. Talk to you later, Barry."

"You too, Iris."

He ends the call and pockets his phone, leaving the bedroom.

Len has ordered a bunch of pizzas. Barry's mouth waters as he smells the food.

He joins Len at the kitchen table, and they talk about mundane things.

It's stupid, and maybe a little awkward, but that's okay.

Today's usually a day of sadness.

Now, maybe it's not all so bad after all.


End file.
